Off-Course
by hannibalsorbet
Summary: Lightly implied Hannigram fluff. Will finds himself in Hannibal's care.


His hands were red. The water was red, slowly turning deeper, crimson. He was going under, his nostrils blocked with the water and the blood, thick and suffocating. He couldn't breathe. He would drown. There was no other option but to give up, allow the water to take him under, open his mouth and swallow the poison. Choke.

Will woke with a start. He gasped and inhaled deeply, as though he had been restricted oxygen all his life. Panic set in once he realised that he was wet - sat in water - like the dream. Looking round, he observed tiled walls and a tiled floor, all very clean and unfamiliarly pristine. He looked down and it was confirmed, he was sat in water, in a bathtub. Bigger than his at home. A separate shower at the end of the tub, surrounded by a cube of spotless and completely transparent sheen of glass. Where was he?

Once his hands had ceased trembling and his knees no longer felt as though they would collapse under pressure, he got to his feet, hands against the nearest wall to keep him stable and to save him from slipping. There was a folded towel just an arm's length away from him. Somebody had obviously prepared it for him. He wrapped it around his waist, leaving his top half wet and shivering. Will stood for a moment, silently scanning the room for clues. It was large and elegant and everything had a place. It was more than just a place to relieve and wash yourself. It was unnecessarily extravagant.

Bored of standing there and curious to suss out his location, he dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his hips again and walked across the bathroom towards the door. He turned the handle, it wasn't locked. Before stepping out, he glanced behind him at the bathtub, watching the water empty down the drain. It was clear, not red. He had been dreaming. His lungs ached but only slightly, and he put that down to swallowing some of the water during his nightmare. He opened the door and stepped into another room, more grand than the one he had been in previously. It was a bedroom. Certainly not his bedroom. Every colour was deep and emphasised and suggested luxury. The whole design of the room was exquisite and the bed was covered with sheets of silk.

That's when Will noticed the robe on the bed. A dark colour, not quite black, but almost, with a lighter trimming. He supposed it was there for him, if not, he'd wear it anyway, since he had nothing else. After slipping into the robe and tying it, he left the room, feeling somewhat revealed and insecure. He knew where he was right away.

"Ah, Will. I was just coming to check on you." His psychiatrist walked towards him, a polite smile on his face and Will was grateful that his eyes remained fixed on his own, rather than scanning his apparent "new look."

"Er, Hannibal, hi." Will gave a nod of his head, an arm draped across his body defensively. "What am I doing here?"

"I thought you wouldn't remember." Hannibal turned on his heel. "Please, come with me. I'll fix you a drink and we can talk."

Will followed the other man through the house until they reached the kitchen, familiar and somehow comforting. Immediately, he began to prepare two drinks and Will was thankful that he had selected something warm and relaxing - simple tea - rather than an alcoholic beverage. His mind was already racing with confusion, bringing on a headache - he didn't want to add to it.

They moved to the dining room with their drinks and sat at the table, opposite each other. Although the room was big and decorative, it was still warm and welcoming at the same time. Will felt at home, though in all honesty, he would rather be at his own home with his dogs, his mind still and rid of the questions which were currently fogging his brain.

"What happened?" He asked, hands around the mug of tea, stealing its warmth.

"I had just finished work and arrived home when there was a knock on the door. It was you." Hannibal eyed his unofficial patient and Will looked away, avoiding his dark eyes. "I could tell immediately that something was wrong, you didn't reply to me, you weren't even looking at me. You were sleepwalking and had somehow managed to find your way here."

"Oh," Will's head snapped up. "I'm sorry, I don't even remember that happening. I can't even remember falling asleep at any point."

"You came in, I sat you down and tried to talk you into consciousness. You finally came around and you were shivering. You walked all the way here, Will, and somehow managed to stay safe."

Will felt embarrassed. He was still very confused and the feeling of being oblivious to something, such as falling asleep and leaving his house and the journey to his psychiatrist's house, made him feel very disorientated and a little uncomfortable.

"No need to be ashamed," Hannibal cut into his thoughts as if he had been reading them. "So, I prepared a bath to warm you up and help relax you."

It only lasted a moment, but the realisation of Hannibal helping him into the bathtub - because he was caring that way and Will doubted that the psychiatrist would trust him to get into the bath safely, still in a panicked state - made him feel very flustered indeed. Had he helped him out of his clothing? Had he seen his naked body? And for a moment, until Will remembered it had all just been a nightmare, he asked himself if Hannibal had noticed his blood stained hands.

"Well, thank you, Hannibal." Will smiled politely and brought the mug to his lips. The tea was strong and sugary and hot and it acted as a reassurance once it settled on his stomach.

They sat for a while, Will had two drinks of tea and a glass of water in total, and his hair was no longer dripping, just still a little damp. For the most part, they spoke of anything but their current predicament and the fact that Will had, yet again, been sleepwalking and that, somehow, he had arrived at Hannibal's, as if he knew where he wanted to be.

All it took was a yawn and a soft sigh from Will to make Hannibal stand and usher him into a bedroom, ordering him to rest for the night. Initially, Will made an attempt to decline the offer, saying he ought to get home to his dogs, back to his own bed so that tomorrow he was prepared to leave the house to work. But Hannibal shut him up by pressing his hand to the small of his back and guiding him to the bed (which looked very appealing indeed). Will hid his surprise at Hannibal staying in the bedroom until he was under the covers and in a comfortable position - practically like tucking a child in, but less hands-on. He also suppressed the overwhelming urge to tell Dr Lecter about his astonishingly vivd dream in which he was drowning in the bathtub of blood, but that would only lead to more unanswerable questions. Whose blood? If it wasn't his, why was he covered in somebody else's? And if it was his, what had happened to him? But it wasn't real, he reminded himself.

"I hope you will be comfortable."

"Thanks, I'm sure I will. It's just fine." Will nodded, looking up at Hannibal's dark figure - just about able to spot certain features and details of his well-defined face in the near darkness. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." Hannibal made for the door. "Goodnight. Oh, and Will - no work for you tomorrow. Doctor's orders."


End file.
